Frank has found that his life has become almost entirely bee-centred…
I was delighted to discover that the Natural History Museum hosts an online beecam. Delight turned to despair, however, when I realised I am unlikely ever again to concentrate on any purposeful activity. I have been keeping a log, and here is a typical day in my new world:
5.15 AM : Leap out of bed and plump myself in front of the beecam. Become enthralled.
7.24 AM : Consider basic needs, such as washing and dressing and eating a hearty breakfast of kedgeree and bloaters and smokers’ poptarts, but am so overwhelmed by the beecam that I postpone any activity.
11.45 AM : Bee-haunted.
3.00 PM : Numb to the human world. Beginning to think like a bee. Making occasional buzzing noises.
3.14 PM : Nip away from the beecam momentarily to don yellow-and-black striped leotard and black hat with antennae.
7.52 PM : Recall that I planned to write something for The Dabbler. Am too transfixed by the beecam to move.
11.35 PM : Realise that I have spent the entire day observing either bees or the absence of bees on the beecam. Suffused with a warm glow of beeness. Continue to watch bees with now bleary eyes. Make a mental note to explain to readers that “bleary-eyed” has nothing to do with Blairite Labour politician Hazel Blears. Though come to think of it, she is so diminutive she is not much bigger than a bee.
1.07 AM : Drag myself reluctantly from beecam to bed. As I fall asleep, reflect upon the fact that I have never had so bee-centred a day as the day just gone. Resolve to be even more bee-minded in future.
if you lived near Washington D.C. you would be transfixed by the zoo’s Pandacam watching for signs of pregnancy.
this made me chuckle!
My therapist worked hard for months to wean me off blogging, but severed all ties over the beecam.